Ester Ried eBook

CHAPTER III.

FLORENCE VANE.

Of the same opinion concerning Florence was Ester,
a few weeks later, when, one evening as she was hurrying
past him, Dr. Van Anden detained her:

“I want to see you a moment, Miss Ester.”

During these weeks Ester had been roused. Sadie
was sick; had been sick enough to awaken many anxious
fears; sick enough for Ester to discover what a desolate
house theirs would have been, supposing her merry
music had been hushed forever. She discovered,
too, how very much she loved her bright young sister.

She had been very kind and attentive; but the fever
was gone now, and Sadie was well enough to rove around
the house again; and Ester began to think that it
couldn’t be so very hard to have loving hands
ministering to one’s simplest want, to be cared
for, and watched over, and petted every hour in the
day. She was returning to her impatient, irritable
life. She forgot how high the fever had been at
night, and how the young head had ached; and only
remembered how thoroughly tired she was, watching
and ministering day and night. So, when she followed
Dr. Van Anden to the sitting-room, in answer to his
“I want to see you, Miss Ester,” it was
a very sober, not altogether pleasant face which listened
to his words.

“Florence Vane is very sick to-night. Some
one should be with her besides the housekeeper.
I thought of you. Will you watch with her?”

If any reasonable excuse could have been found, Ester
would surely have said “No,” so foolish
did this seem to her. Why, only yesterday she
had seen Florence sitting beside the open window, looking
very well; but then, she was Sadie’s friend,
and it had been more than two weeks since Sadie had
needed watching with at night. So Ester could
not plead fatigue.

“I suppose so,” she answered, slowly,
to the waiting doctor, hearing which, he wheeled and
left her, turning back, though, to say:

“Do not mention this to Sadie in her present
state of body. I don’t care to have her
excited.”

“Very careful you are of everybody,” muttered
Ester, as he hastened away. “Tell her what,
I wonder? That you are making much ado about
nothing, for the sake of showing your astonishing skill?”

In precisely this state of mind she went, a few hours
later, over to the cottage, into the quiet room where
Florence lay asleep—­and, for aught she
could see, sleeping as quietly as young, fresh life
ever did.

“What do you think of her?” whispered
the old lady who acted as housekeeper, nurse and mother
to the orphaned Florence.

“I think I haven’t seen her look better
this great while,” Ester answered, abruptly.

“Well, I can’t say as she looks any worse
to me either; but Dr. Van Anden is in a fidget,
and I suppose he knows what he’s about.”

The doctor came in at eleven o’clock, stood
for a moment by the bedside, glanced at the old lady,
who was dozing in her rocking-chair, then came over
to Ester and spoke low: